


The Stray Acceleration

by griseldalafey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griseldalafey/pseuds/griseldalafey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Hiatus Fluff Sunday. Gold is completely the smitten kitten. And there's an actual kitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stray Acceleration

**Author's Note:**

> Not the most original concept in the world, but it fluffs so well...

Storybrooke’s Public library had been reopened a little over six months ago. The dusty, disorganized place expertly cleaned and straightened out by the newly appointed librarian who had moved into the small apartment above the building.    
And ever since then Mr. Gold had something to look forward to every fortnight.

Because came hell or high water, ever since the first week after the library went back into business, Gold came there at a quarter past six sharp, straight after having closed up his pawnshop to pick out his reading selection for the next two weeks.  A quarter past six meant dinner time to the routine-loving inhabitants of Storybooke, so around that time the library was often quiet, if not almost deserted.

It suited Gold well, because it gave him ample opportunity to browse the neatly stocked shelves of the building, admiring the ever expanding collection and enjoy the highly helpful suggestions of Belle French, the librarian at leisure.  
Because never mind the fact that he sold a vast amount of classic titles in his shop, or had a rather extensive private library at home, Mr. Gold never left the library with one or two books that had been kindly recommended to him by Miss French.

On this particular Friday night, Mr. Gold stepped into the quiet tranquility of the library in a decisive, albeit imperceptible good mood, which only increased when he noticed Belle French standing behind the circulation desk all by herself.  With any luck he would get to enjoy a few enchanting minutes of conversation with her before one or other fellow resident came barging in and disrupted their little moment as would inevitably happen.

Slowly making his way over to the circulation desk, he was a little taken aback when, alerted to his presence by the sound of his cane clicking against the marble the floor, she didn’t offer a greeting, or showed any reaction whatsoever. It wasn’t until he placed his return books on the desk that she finally looked up and attempted to smile.

Gold knew every single one of Belle French’ smiles. In the past six months he had made a rather in-depth study of them. There was a smile for when she talked about her favorite books, a smile for when she was reading to the children at story-tell hour, there was one for when she was highly amused by something, but tried not to show it (which happened to be his second to favorite one) and there was the smile that she used when she was teasing someone (which was hands-down his all time favorite)   
He knew every single one of her smiles, but he hadn’t yet come across this one: the smile she smiled when she had obviously nothing to smile about.

“Good evening, Mr. Gold,” the smile-that-was-a-far-cry-from-actually-being-one remained stubbornly in place. “How are you this evening?”

“Very well, thank you,” he replied dismissively, frowning as he focussed his attention on her pale face and red-rimmed eyes. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, thanks!” The brightness of her voice rivaled the honesty of her smile and he opted not to make a reply, but to just look at her.

He could stare an eagle down if he choose to.

As it were, Miss French was made of sterner stuff.

“I am, really,” she insisted a little flustered, placing his books on the cart behind her so she could re-shelve them later.

“You’ll have to do better than that, dearie,” he drawled, once she had turned back to him.

“It is rather stupid…” she warned him.

“Let me be the judge of that,” he implored, never once breaking eye-contact. At least she had admitted something was bothering her and his mind was running a mile an hour, coming up with possible scenario’s.   
Mayor Mills was causing problems as per usual and being altogether unsupportive of the library.   
Someone was bothering her, harassing her or making her life miserable.    
Some mindless oaf had broken her heart, too stupid to notice what a beautiful and amazing woman she was.   
Granny’s Diner had run out of iced tea.

He decided there and then that whatever it was, between pulling some strings, restoring to some gentle blackmail or if need be, the use of his cane, he would be able to solve it for her.

“The vet had to put down my cat last night.”   
Her voice was small, heart-broken and a tiny bit apologetic and his own heart tore along with hers.

Because there was absolutely _nothing_ he could do about that.

“I’m sorry…” he offered awkwardly. “Was he very sick?”

“He was very old,” she answered with a sigh. “He was twenty-two, which is practically ancient for a cat. I’ve known for years that this moment was about to come and I thought I was prepared for it. Turns out that I wasn’t…”

“Well, is one ever…?” he asked quietly, his voice low with sympathy.

She gave him a tiny smile, the one he recognized as being the ‘we understand each other’ smile that was very dear to him.   
 “I realize that now. It’s just… I’ve had Louie since I was ten years old… I got him for Christmas. He’s been there for the most part of my life and ever since I’ve moved away from my parents, he’s always been with me… I’ve never really lived alone until now… and to tell you the truth, I dread going home tonight.”

Her chin wobbled dangerously at the last words and even despite her brave efforts to keep her composure a single tear rolled down over her cheek, only to be brushed away hastily. “I’m sorry…”

Why _sh_ e felt the need to sound so apologetic was beyond him. This was wretched. There was not a single thing he could do and she was so, so sad.

“No matter,” he answered quickly, reaching out on impulse and petting her hand stiffly, cringing when he realized the gesture couldn’t have been more condescending if he’d tried.  

“Don’t apologize,” he tried again. “Losing a beloved pet can be devastating.’

Unbidden the memory of a great, gentle, scruffy sheepdog popped into his mind, the dog he’d cried over for nights on end when he’d been a boy and had first experienced the loss of a furry friend.   
To his own ears, his words still sounded rather pompous, but to his relief she smiled at him, although he had some difficulty trying to decipher it. It was still sad, but genuine at the same time.

“Thank you… Well, have you given any thought on what you’d like to read next?”

* * *

 

 In the week that followed, he was unable to get the image of Miss French’s sad eyes and tear-stained cheeks out of his mind. The memory of them popped up in front of his eyes at the most random moments during the day and lingered at night as he lay in his bed, sleep eluding him. If he had thought her smiles to be unsettling, her tears were even more so.

He thought about her more than he ought to, more than was sensible or even proper. Upon her first arrival to Storybooke he had found her interesting, a diversion. She had greeted him friendly when he’d set foot into the library that first Friday night. It had been a quiet night as well and she had introduced herself, asked after his reading preferences, dug a little deeper when he’d admitted a fondness to obscure historical fiction and within minutes they were engaged into deep conversation, a more exhilarating one that he could remember having for a very long time.

Belle French had an extensive knowledge of a great variety of books to the point were she was practically a walking catalog.

On beautiful legs.

She was also funny, kind and had impeccable taste when it came to reading advice. After that first meeting - that had left him more affected than he was willing to admit, even to himself - he had fully expected the town’s gossip about him to catch up with her.  It was only a matter of time before someone would fill her in about what an unpleasant, untrustworthy, beastly sort of man he was and once she’d learned that she would grow as wary of him as the rest of Storybooke was.   
When he’d entered the library a fortnight later to return Hobsbawm’s ‘ _Age of Extremes’_ he was prepared for her cool reception and her dismissive attitude. To his surprise she’d been as warm and friendly as she’d been before, appearing genuinely happy to see him again.    
For about three months he had waited with baited breath for the shoe to drop, but it never came. Either she was completely oblivious to the town’s gossip (which he deemed unlikely, since Ruby Lucas was her best friend) or refreshingly undeterred by it.

Either way, he began to look forward to their meetings like it was the single bright spot in his life.

In a very harmless and strictly platonic way of course. Or so he insisted.

* * *

 

Another Friday, exactly a week later found him just outside his pawnshop, on his way back from the mailbox. He had been fighting the impulse to visit the library that night, breaking his pattern of checking out new books every other week. He was eager to find out if she was already feeling better or if there was something he could do in order to accomplish that.

But the fear of drawing suspicion to his overly frequent library visits and the uncomfortable explanation he’d had to provide when questioned, sub consequently followed by humiliation and heartbreak held him back.   
Until he passed the narrow alley behind his shop and was startled out of his reverie by the sound of something wheezing.   
Instantly suspicious, he followed the sound of the noise towards the oversized dumpster that occupied most of the alley. It was too dark to look inside, put upon coming closer, the sound of wheezing and crying became more distinctive.

Retrieving his cellphone from the pocket of his over-coat, he used the light of the display to illuminate the contents of the dumpster and in the artificial, blueish light he noticed a tiny creature huddled in a corner of the iron crate, sitting precariously on top of sodden carton boxes. For a fleeting instant he thought it was a rat, but when the little thing lifted its head and crooked, he realized it was a very small, very mangled looking kitten.

He reached inside the dumpster, trying to grab it, but the minuscule feline darted away from his grasp, and scurried to the other side, stumbling and sliding over waste and garbage. It took three attempts and a dose of luck before he managed to close his fingers around what turned out to be a very small amount of wet, bony, grubby cat.

Once caught, the tiny thing put up an impressive fight, clawing, hissing and biting at his fingers for the entire ounce he was worth. Of course it being so small meant that it was unable to cause any serious damage, or even come near doing so, but nevertheless Gold felt rather put out by the fact that his heroic efforts were so little appreciated.

Thankfully it was only a minute walk back to his shop and once returned to the backroom, he deposited the kitten inside a carton box and watched how it darted back to huddle into a corner again, doing an uncanny and ungraceful impression of a crab, it’s tiny back curved high, his tail puffed out to the max and all the while hissing and growling.

“Easy now…” he tried, reaching into the box and attempting to stroke his pinkie finger over the tiny head.  In response the kitten growled in a pathetic, high-pitched way. He withdrew his hand, his shoulders slumping in resignation.   
Apparently he didn’t have the magic touch.

For a moment he stared at the disheveled cat, contemplating on his next course of action. It made a rather pitiful attempt to get comfortable inside the box and he added an old towel to the box so it would have something more soft to curl up on.    
He really should call the shelter. Or David Nolan himself if the facility was already closed.

Or… Or he could call Belle… Miss French.

The idea, once it took root in his mind quickly became impossible to discard. She was an experienced cat-owner, she obviously loved them… she’d know what to do.

But it would be ridiculous. Their interaction in the past six months was limited to the books he checked out and the comments she made on them. Him calling her out of the blue for a personal favor would highly inappropriate.    
And also a dead give-away.

The kitten sat frozen on the towel, its entire body hunched, looking at him though wide, blue, rather infected eyes and his heart softened.

Oh god… He checked his watch, noting it was five minutes to nine. The library was about to close. He could call and ask her to come over after she was done, perhaps the kitten would mollify her enough not to be too upset with him for intruding on her like that. Pulling the phone from his pocket once again he took the plunge and dialed.

* * *

 

Her easy assent to come as soon as she’d closed up the library surprised him and he spend the next fifteen minutes drumming his fingers on the counter, glaring at the cat and trying to ignore the way his insides were clenching nervously.

About a quarter past nine the bell above the door signaled her arrival and he hurried back into the shop to greet her. To his surprise she was dressed in an enormous, bright yellow raincoat, her chestnut curls covered by a hood.   
It was only then that he noticed it was pouring outside and he cursed himself inwardly. She’d probably be much happier being on her way home now, instead of coming to him.

She shrugged out of the raincoat, dumping it unceremoniously on the doormat.

“I’ll just leave it here, I don’t want to get your shop all wet,” she explained.

Underneath the coat, she was wearing a brown dress covered with white polkadots, combined with an ochre woolen cardigan and a small belt in the same color. Her hair was down and wavy and the low lighting gave it an almost copper glow. She was the warm and shining center of his gloomy shop, but somehow she fitted right in.

“All right,” she looked at him expectantly. “What’s the emergency? You sounded rather serious over the phone.”

He gestured for her to follow him and led her to the backroom, indicating the box on his desk.   
“I found him in the dumpster behind the shop,” he explained.

Eyes widening, Belle stepped closer and peered inside the box, letting out an almost inhuman sound, something between a cry and a gasp. For a moment he could’t really assess what her reaction indicated, but then she reached into the box and scooped the kitten up in both hands, cuddling it tightly against her.   
Only then she turned to look back at him, her eyes wide and her face flushed.

“He’s so precious… you said you found him? Someone _threw_ him in a dumpster?” Her eyes darkened with indignation and she wrapped the cardigan around the kitten.

“I guess so,” he answered, relaxing now that she didn’t appear to be put out with him.

“Well, you’re a hero for saving him,” she told him, cuddling the kitten a little higher and pressing a kiss to its little, muddy head. “Imagine him being outside, fending for himself in this kind of weather. Who would do such a thing?”

The kitten, who up until now had shown nothing but hostility gave a great yawn, settled happily against Belle and started purring loudly, its eyes blissfully closed. Gold could have sworn the thing was even smiling, but couldn’t really find it in himself to begrudge the kitten for basking in the attention.

Had it been him, nestled comfortably between Belle’s breasts, being stroked and petted, kissed and crooned at, he’d be purring too.

“Yes… well…” he admitted, feeling awkward by her praise. “I’m afraid I’m a little at loss what to do now… I’m more of a dog person…”

She gave him a brilliant smile before giving the kitten a critical once over. “Food first, then a bath,” she decided. “Do you have anything edible in here?”

There was a small kitchenette in the corner of the backroom with a few cabinets above the sink. One of them which he had turned into a make-shift pantry. He ram-shacked its contents, listing the items he came across as he went. “Crackers… marmalade… an apple… sugar… coffee… oatmeal…”

“Perfect!” she told him and he pulled out the box.   
Within minutes the oatmeal was ready and the kitten almost tripped over his pawns in his haste to get to it, all but shoving his face in the bowl. After a little while, Belle gently took the bowl away, despite the kitten’s furious protests. “That’s enough for now,” she told him softly. “You’re going to make yourself sick eating too much too fast.”  
The kitten huffed indignantly, but eventually settled down and made an attempt to clean himself.

Gold watched her every move, his heart in his throat. Over the past months he had - reluctantly - allowed himself on occasion to imagine what it would be like to have her in his life, in his home. Realizing full well that it were just pretty dreams for lonely nights, this little taste of reality nevertheless made him yearn for more.   
Watching her potter through the backroom, completely at ease, like she’d been here countless of times before suddenly made _him_ feel more at home than ever before.

They waited for about ten minutes to give the kitten time to digest its meal, the tiny noises coming from his stomach confirming that taking the dish away had been a smart move on Belle’s part, and chatted about everything and nothing in particular. It never failed to amaze him just how easy it was to talk to her. She asked after an antique clock he was restoring and he told her some interesting details about the piece and about the process of repairing it, surprised by her genuine interest.

When it looked like the kitten had settled down from his meal, he offered to fill the sink, lamenting the fact that he had no suitable soap or shampoo around.

“Actually, I think only warm water is just fine,” she answered, picking up the kitten.   
“I gave Louie a bath once, using cat-shampoo and he smelled like detergent for days… it was just wrong.”

“Are you feeling better… I mean less sad… about him being gone…I mean…” He closed his mouth with snap, vexed with himself.   
For crying out loud! On any bad day it took him less than half a minute to talk another person into a corner, but in front of her he turned into a mumbling idiot.   
And now she was smiling.

A warm, soft, slightly dazed smile he didn’t recognize. A smile that was entirely focussed on him.

“Thank you for asking,” her voice was equally soft and for a moment she reached out to cover the hand that was holding his cane, giving it a little squeeze.   
“I’m starting to feel better, although I still miss him like crazy. I know I made the right decision though.”

She held his gaze, her eyes brightening and gaining a sparkle. “How about we find out what’s underneath all this goop and dirt?” she suggested, lifting the kitten in his hands.

“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed, the skin of his hand tingling where she’d touched him.

Belle gently lowered the kitten into the lukewarm water and for the next few minutes all thoughts of her eyes, her smile and her presence fled from his mind as he needed to focus completely on the task at hand.

The kitten did _not_ enjoy being bathed and for all it’s tinniness put up an impressing fight. It howled, scratched, clawed and hissed every step of the way, determined to wriggle himself away from the water. It took two pair of hands to keep him down and eventually he managed to gain some kind of hold on him, while Belle tried to rinse his fur of all matted grime.

It was only then that it began to filter through his mind that he was all but pressed up against her back, their fingers interwinding on occasionally as they tended to the kitten and that his chin was resting on her shoulder and her soft hair, smelling like roses and honey only inches from his nose.   
He faltered, his eyes drifting shut for a moment as he breathed her in, trying to burn the feel of her warm body pressed against him, her scent and her silky hair into his memory.

“There, all done!” Her triumphant cry brought him back to reality with a snap and he took in the wreckage that bathing the kitten had caused.   
Thankfully he had discarded his suit jacket before he had stepped up beside her to help her, but his shirt was effectively ruined, having been splashed by mud, feces and other muck he didn’t care to know.

Belle however had taken the full brunt, the front of her dress all but covered in dirt. Even her face was adorned with specks of mud. As she bundled the kitten up into a towel and proceeded to dry him off, he looked around for another clean towel, drenching the tip with warm water.

“What is it?” she asked bewildered as he reached it out to her.

“You’re almost worse off than the kitten,” he told with a chuckle, indicating her face and clothes.

‘Oh god…” she groaned, rubbing the back of her hand over her face, only increasing the mess. “Where is it?”

“Everywhere now,” he replied dryly, lifting the towel. “Allow me?”

He would wonder later where this uncharacteristic burst of courage had come from, but as she nodded all he could think of was the perfect softness of her skin his fingertips occasionally grazed as he carefully and meticulously cleaned away every spot. Her eyes were wide and gazing into his and up close they were even more startling blue, but her teeth digging into the soft plumpness of her lower lip proved to be most distracting and he almost dropped the towel as his gaze riveted there.

A scornful croak broke the spell, the kitten in her arms looking up reproachfully and he stepped back, his hands clenching around his cane.

“Wha- what are you going to do with him?” Belle asked, slightly breathless.

Right, the kitten.   
 “I’m not sure,” he confessed. “Like I said, I’m more of a dog person and I don’t get the impression that he particularly likes me.”

He debated his next question for a second, wondering if it was too soon and too insensitive of him to ask.   
“Would you like to have him?”

She bit her lip, her eyes lightening up before she started to nod. Slightly at first, but becoming increasingly more enthusiastic. “Yes… yes! I think I’d really like to actually. I was going to wait a while before getting another cat, because I didn’t want to rush into anything, but this… you calling me… it’s fate.”

Yes, well… fate being the reason for him calling her sounded definitely better than his libido going through midlife-crises.

“You’re welcome to have him,” he told her, “I don’t think he could ask for a better home.”

She gave him an adorable little bashful smile in reply and snuggled the kitten closer. “I think we’re going to be very happy together.”

A few minutes later the kitten was packed up in a wicker carrier he had lying around somewhere in the shop and most of the mess was cleaned away.  It was then that it dawned on him that she was about to go home and that their impromptu meeting was coming to an end and his stomach sank.

“Thank you for coming over to help me,” he offered.

She turned around to face him fully. “I really think it’s me who should be thanking you,” she told him, a hint of teasing in her voice. “I love having a cat again.”

“I’m glad it turned out this way,”   
For her sake’s, for the cat’s and for his own heart that had fallen even deeper in love with her than he’d held possible. His feelings might never be reciprocated, but the memory of tonight was one he would treasure.

“Thank you for thinking about me when you found him,” she said sincerely, her eyes warm.

He was losing himself in her eyes and in her smile, one that would fuel his dreams about her for a long time.    
“You’re never far from my mind.”

What had sounded like a gracious retort to her heartfelt thanks in his mind had come out as a rather callous declaration and as soon as the words left his mouth and he realized what he’d been implying, he winced in mortification, especially when her eyes widened, his meaning sinking in.

He opened his mouth to start an apology, an explanation, anything really to try and salvage a fraction of her good opinion, but the words caught in his throat when she took a step closer towards him, invading his personal space. Craning her neck so that they were almost at the same height, she searched his face, her blue eyes burning into his.

He forgot how to breath, his very heart stopping in his chest until it began to hammer furiously when her face curved into that soft, warm, slightly dazed smile she’d given him earlier.   
One she, and he started to realize this haltingly, seemed to save just for him.

“What do you think of hamburgers?” she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper, her breath tickling his chin.

“I- I’m rather partial towards them…” he managed.

“Good…” her smile widened. “Because I’ve heard Granny’s hamburgers are amazing, but I’ve never had one… Would you like to try them with me some time?”

“That sounds lovely,” he answered, his heart surging with hope.

If possible her smile brightened even more and he decided there and then that this was his absolute favorite of Belle French’s smiles.

“It’s a date then.”


End file.
